


Nightmares (Magneto Version)

by teal_bandit



Category: Marvel (Comics), X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: Graphic Description, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-01-02
Packaged: 2019-10-03 04:02:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17276720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teal_bandit/pseuds/teal_bandit
Summary: Erik has a dream in which all of his guilt concerning the treatment of his son comes to haunt him.





	Nightmares (Magneto Version)

Erik tossed over in his sleep. Every night for the past week, he dreamt. Usually, he was so exhausted he couldn’t remember them come morning. These dreams, though… He hadn’t had dreams this vivid since Anya.

He walked through his old home in Poland, where he and Magda had lived after their marriage. It was unbearably hot. He walked down the stairs, expecting to find… Anya, maybe. It certainly would have made sense.

“Papa, jest tak ciepło,” came a small voice. “Czy jesteśmy w piekle?”

Not Anya.

There stood in the doorway to the kitchen a child–maybe five to seven years old–with striking white hair. Erik’s eyes traveled the features of the boy’s face– the brilliantly blue deep-set eyes, large nose, thin lips, strong jawline.

Then he noticed the bruises.

The deep purples and greens stuck out against the pale olive-toned skin; the sallowness of his complexion and leanness betraying malnourishment. ‘Well, it’s not like his adopted parents were particularly well-to-do’ Erik thought.

The boy shot him a glare. “You don’t have the right. You abandoned us. You abandoned me.” Tears began welling up in the child’s eyes. “How do you think I got these bruises, papa?”

Flashes of memories shot before Erik’s eyes–different moments of berating his son, mentally and physically. Blood, bruises, rage, torture, insults, humiliation, negligence, apathy. And as each memory passed, the marks of abuse on the boy became more and more pronounced.

And he began to cry.

“Why don’t you love me? Why am I not good enough for you,” the child sobbed. “What did I do that you’re so horrible to me?!”

The child sank down on the floor, drawing his knees up. Erik slowly crossed over to him, sitting beside him.

The boy was shaking; Erik tried to put his arm around him, but felt as though he couldn't–that something terrible would happen if he did.

“Please… Try to understand. I don’t hate you. It’s just… It’s been so difficult since… Since Anya passed. She was the light of my whole world. And losing your mother, too… It was more than I could take. And you…” He paused, looking over the child, “You’re so much like her… Like both of them. It nearly kills me.”

He felt the tears run down his face. He thought over his son’s actions and mannerisms–his determination to keep his family safe, his quick wit, his passion for justice and equality, his timidity, his stubbornness, the way he wraps his arms around himself when he’s nervous or upset, the way he cocks his head to one side when he doesn’t understand something, even the way he sticks his tongue out when he concentrates.

The boy looked up at him, accusing, “You loved them, even after they were gone.”

Erik finally rested his hand on his son’s shoulder.

“Pietro…”

Blue eyes shrunk into their sockets. Erik looked on in horror as the boys face appeared to melt and slide off, leaving a skull in its place. “You’re a terrible father, Erik,” came a legion-esque voice from what remained of the child. “All you do is hurt and lie and kill. You’ve ruined your children. You’ve ruined me. How do you stand the guilt?”

Erik’s throat seized. His heart was racing and he felt that he couldn’t move.

Pietro’s decaying form stood. It wrapped its arms around Erik’s neck, filling his senses with the smell of diseased flesh.

“I love you, papa.”

Erik woke with a start, rushing to the bathroom. He dry heaved over the trash bin for several minutes as he tried to erase the god-awful smell from his memory. He was gripped by an overpowering mixture of rage and fear and guilt. He remembered those last words before the dream ended.

'I love you, papa’

He didn’t sleep any more that night.


End file.
